Winteringham Local History and Genealogy

Poetry by Winteringham People

John Foster
(sometimes spelt Forster), shoemaker, of Winteringham had a book of poems published by R Noble of London, and sold for the author by White; Darton and Harvey; Chapman Keymer, Colchester, Browne, Hull, and Wilson & Co York, 1797. The poems are of a chiefly religious nature, and there’s a recommendatory preface by Rev Robert Storry of Colchester. Robert Storry had been the curate for Rev Adam at Winteringham from 1775 to 1780, and amongst those bookshops selling the book was Keymer’s of Colchester. It cost 1 shilling on best paper, but sixpence if printed on inferior! Click here for the John Foster page!

Winteringham Church by Agnes Codling,click here.(Kindly supplied by Sandra Clayton)

The poem below was written down by the Curate (Mr Mitchell) as dictated by Ann Barratt. A transcription is given below the scans.

Come with thy royal children dear,Father and Mother
both unite (combine),Teach them the mighty God to fear,That they in glory all may shine.

And when thy earthly course is run,And thou thy honours must lay down,By faith in
Jesus it is wonThat great that glorious heav’nly crown.

Then may you meet above the sky,And join that everlasting song,Where Hallelujahs never dieIn praise of the
Great Three in One.

Composed by Ann Barratt, a poor woman aged 74, of Winteringham, Lincolnshire, 1862. The words were taken down by the Curate as dictated by the old woman.

Although described here as “the old woman”, Ann lived for another 20 years. After the terrible storm of December
1874, Ann wrote a poem about the rescue of 15 people at Winteringham. Her poem was published as a penny broadsheet by Peck of Hull, and can be read (together with a newspaper description of
the events) here

Winteringham Church

In Winteringham towards the
westStands All Saints Church, ancient and blestIts architectural beauty is to all a joy and prideThe glory of its arches my pen cannot describe

The beautiful stained glass windows fill us
with delightWhen sunlights streaming through them, or in the shades of night;

The figures there depicted - those marvellous works of art,Portray man's love of beauty, which God
Himself imparts.

I gaze upon the cross with fervent bated breath,For me "The Man of Sorrows went to a shameful death;But now He reigns above the sky,And pleads for sinners (such
as I).

There's God's most holy altar, where none our hope can mar,And lectern with an eagle its wings outspreading far;The pulpit where the priest resorts,To preach his sermon,
read reports.

An effigy most famous lies in a deep recess,A cross-legged knight in armour, a shield upon his breast;'Tis said he was a Marmion of valour and renownWho fought with the
Crusaders to win a heavenly crown.

The font with its canopy towering aboveAn emblem of mystery, redemption and love;Vestry, belfry, brass tablets, chancel and nave,The church is complete
pave upon pave.

The bells, glorious bells, call on to prayerSometimes they're tolling, but it's not despair;Or perhaps they are pealing, so be not forlorn,To tell of the
Christchild born Christmas morn.

The swell of the organ falls on my ear,My thoughts ride above to those who are dear;Saviour and loved ones I feel they are near,Why go any further?
My ideal is here!